Helluva Boss Oneshots

"Fizzarolli's Past (Part 2)"

Fizzarolli staggered back to Blitzo's family's tent after the jam-packed show. He was panting, being very close to passing out. Fizzarolli was constantly running around, doing flips, summersaults, trapeze tricks, and poorly written comedy sets filled with jokes he didn't understand. All of this was done within a thirty minute show, him being front and center nearly the entire time.

For some reason, during shows, Cash liked to work him until he was sore. Fizzarolli couldn't complain though. He loved the feeling of every eye constantly being on him. Being front and center filled him with a confidence and joy he had never felt in his life before.

As well as that, the applause from the audience always made up for his soreness. The applause was beautiful to him. Applause that people thought was reasonable for him. Applause that was always the loudest for him. Applause that made him feel wanted and loved by the audience.

Because of the constant running and preforming with no breaks, Fizzarolli would usually have a sore limb or two after shows. But he could easily walk off the pain he would gain. Only sometimes would it linger for a few days. But, it wasn't never too bad that he wanted to keel over and die.

Every day was the same. He was sore for only a few hours, and that was it.

But not today.

Today was different.

Painful was an understatement to describe how the child imp felt. Fizzarolli's arms and legs slightly shook from the pain. Every step was agonizing. He had to clench his teeth to not cry from the stabbing feeling rattling in his bones. His tail limply dragged along the ground as he dragged himself back to the tent.

The sky was dark, and he was quickly covered by a small sprinkle of rain. The rain covered his clowny outfit, making Fizzarolli shiver. His teeth chattered as he stepped through small puddles. The would run to the tent, but he was too weak to do so. The fact that he was still standing was unbelievable to him.

However, he would not stop moving himself back to the tent. Hell, he would drag himself if it meant returning to that tent. He was ready to as well. With how bad his pain was he didn't know if he would make it.

His brain ran as he tried to figure out why he hurt so badly. This whole pain thing was very obviously confusing to him.

When he first joined the circus, Cash had taught him that, "performers were supposed to go through tons of pain during performances." He was also taught that, "other performers go through worse pain than he had, and still be able to go out and preform." Cash taught him a bunch of amazing lessons.

But this still didn't explain the pain to him.

Another thing Fizzarolli was taught by Cash was "only weak people cried." And he knew he wasn't weak. So he couldn't cry. Crying was for weak people. Cash was old and wise. So then...if Cash said it, that meant it was true, right?

But this still didn't explain why he felt so obliged to.

To be honest, all he wanted to do was collapse. He wanted to lay down and just sob in the rain. His body felt as if it were being tortured.

Maybe he was just a weak child who couldn't suck up some soreness.

~~~~~~~~

The second Fizzarolli walked into the tent, Cash Buckzo called for him. Fizzarolli trudged over to the office desk in the corner of the tent. He made small noises of pain at almsot every step.

He practically collapsed onto the red beanbag chair that Cash "bought" once he got over. Cash Buckzo was sitting at the desk, staring at the child.